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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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Whiteboard

Danger: Void Behind Door

The whiteboard at Southgate station says services are normal on all lines except the Central; on the Central, it says, they are good.

Proto-Punk

Danger: Void Behind Door

“He’s asked me to sing in a proto-punk band,” said the man in the suit on the phone in the sun on Piccadilly. “I don’t even know what that means.”

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Sifted by Ilk

  • Fiction
  • Non-Fiction
  • London
  • South East London
  • London in 30 Words
  • Smoke A London Peculiar
  • Transport
  • Politics
  • Poems and Parodies

Outside the Crown next morning, a wreath shaped like a giant emulsion brush stands propped against the recycling bin; as the breeze rises, wet white petals drip onto the pavement.

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

Taxi for Mr Johnson

How the removal of bendy buses on route 507 inspired a new TfL competition to redesign the wheel in time for 2012.

Helena Bonham Carter and the Thirty-Foot Elephant

How Josephine's coquettish suggestion that Napoleon surprise her with something long and wrinkly led to a giant elephant being installed in the Place de la Bastille.

A Riot Of Their Own

How I had my faith in human nature restored by the people of Sidcup and why toddlers and anarchists should neither be given Sunny Delight nor put in charge of the Northern Line.

Boris Johnson versus Dean Cox

A melancholy reflection on whether baklavas, beer, aubergine rasavangy and an 82nd-minute equaliser at Brisbane Road can ever compensate for the existence of Boris Johnson.

These Weirdoes Are Weird

Why I won’t let you tell me what you think about what I think about David Mitchell.

Ceci n’est pas un Wheelie Bin

René Magritte’s time with LT’s maintenance department didn't last long, as his playful signage at Stratford station provoked not only much philosophical debate in the canteen, but also a major hygiene problem on the southbound Jubilee Line.

I Was Just Trying To Be Nice

Across the road is a nail salon, then a jeweller’s, a florist’s, and – I stare at the words above the next doorway: Divine Money, Financial Services. Why is that so familiar? Obviously it’s the sort of name you remember, but – where would I be remembering it from?

Danger: Void Behind Door

A brief rumination on the fickleness of both women and space-time, and the possibility that access to some sort of infinite primordial darkness can be gained from the southbound Bakerloo Line platform at Waterloo.

You’re So Quiet You Sound Like Aldershot

Why it’s not just the lack of an internationally renowned art gallery, good tapas and an occasionally murderous independence movement that distinguishes Leyton from Bilbao.

48 Hours In Vigo

In which I use a small trampoline to explain how Sir Francis Drake would have dealt with Ryanair’s “no aeroplane” interpretation of "no frills", and we find out what Galicians keep in their hold-alls.

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